


Else

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other, Unrequited Love, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 09:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21177242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir finds Elrond in a compromising state.





	Else

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for felder’s “Lindir goes to Elrond's office on a summer night (maybe to retrieve a forgotten letter or treaty or something), hears a weird sound, goes on to investigate and walks into Elrond having a wet dream? He is entranced by the sight, but sadly the name Elrond calls at the end is not Lindir's” request on [my Dreamwidth](https://yeaka.dreamwidth.org/1190.html).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Imladris is lax in the summer, when the bright daylight and warm nights keep the orcs and wolves at bay, and things seem pleasant and peaceful. The minstrels play a little longer, the gardeners dawdle outside after hours, and even Erestor isn’t quite so harsh in his expectations. Not Lindir. He works precisely the same amount no matter the season. When he realizes what he’s forgotten late in the evening, long after their guests have gone to bed and the kitchens are closed, he still gets dressed again and leaves his quarters. The papers could be sorted in the morning, and no one would bat an eyelash, but _Lindir_ would know, and he just can’t have that. Worse, he couldn’t live with himself if Elrond were to arrive and find the side desk in his office an unruly mess. Lindir feels compelled to fix it. 

He moves quickly through the halls, but he’s still careful to be quiet, quieter than usual. He doesn’t dare wake anyone, whether they be residents or visitors. Imladris’ peace is his business, and he couldn’t bear to disrupt that. When he reaches Elrond’s office, he creeks the door open as slowly as he can.

He slips inside, not even willing to light the candles, and instead moves by memory and the soft starlight through the windows. The day’s inventory lists are strewn out across his desk, right where he left them. His fingers itch to fix them, and he begins diligently sorting them into place. 

He’s only just finished when he hears a noise in the adjacent lounge. His head whips over, instantly afraid he’s woken someone, but then, there should be no one asleep in Elrond’s private lounge. Curious, suspicious, and a tad worried, Lindir creeps around the corner. His breath catches when he realizes the source of the sound: Lord Elrond himself has fallen asleep across the sofa. 

He’s still neatly dressed in his elaborate crimson robes, his hair elegantly swept aside as his cheek turns against the armrest. An open book lies on the floor, clearly fallen out of his hands. A familiar warmth rises in Lindir’s heart, as it always does when he sees his lord in such rare and intimate positions. Then Elrond’s breath hitches, and Lindir watches his head arch back and his chest arch forward. A soft moan tumbles out of his lips, followed by a needy pant and long fingers tightening in the thick upholstery. His legs stretch out, hips rolling in one fluid motion. Lindir’s temperature spikes when he realizes what he’s seeing. 

His lord is having one of _those_ dreams—something deeply personal and private that Lindir shouldn’t ever encroach on. He’d first thought of rousing his lord, not wanting Elrond to spend all night on the sofa and damage his back or neck. Now, that doesn’t seem like such a good idea. If Elrond wakes in a state of disarray or distress, still half swathed in arousal from his dream, he won’t appreciate a witness. He’d be mortified to know that Lindir saw him like this. He would probably be even more so if he knew that Lindir only ever has these sort of dreams about _Elrond_.

Seeing Elrond in such a state already has Lindir’s pulse racing. He feels both fortunate and filthy. A part of him longs to stay and watch all that he can, because it might be the closest he ever comes to truly seeing Elrond during love-making, but the rest of him knows that he can’t. He sucks in a breath and forces himself to turn away. 

Then he hears Elrond murmur softly, “_Celebrían._”

It stabs Lindir like a knife. He clenches his eyes shut, swallows, and leaves.


End file.
